


Coursing

by Measured_Words



Category: J’ai vu le loup le renard chanter (Traditional Song)
Genre: Gen, Jukebox Treat, Magic, Magical Realism, Metaphors, POV First Person, shape changing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 02:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4083997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I saw the wolf, the fox, the hare - I saw their little ritual, and I had to know more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coursing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quillori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillori/gifts).



> Thank you to N for the beta!
> 
> I started writing this when you popped up on the pinch hit list, but it was already taken care of..... so I guess I wrote a treat! I would have liked to write something much longer and more complex - I was very intrigued at the spies idea in your prompt - but I hope you enjoy this :)

When I first saw them, I knew I was too young to join them. We didn't have words like 'cool' back then. Popular, maybe, but it wasn't really how we thought of the world. Sixty years ago, we had that image – black leather jackets, motorcycles, chrome and silver studs. Chains and knives and guns. Dangerous outsiders. Predators. I don't think that's what 'cool' really looks like these days, but somehow the image sticks. They haven't really caught up, at least the boys. The girls – of course there are girls, too. My favourites were the ones who chased after cocky young sailors, but today they're something more sleek and alluring. But this was well before all that. I guess we might have called them ramblers, or vagabonds, wanderers. The shapes behind them are all the same.

Of course it was at a dance, but again these were much older times. Maybe that sort of thing survives outside of the cities still, I'm not sure. It was more like line dancing – yes, like the sort of thing you might see at those anachronism fairs. Like that, but not. You'd know everyone there, mostly – and those you didn't, well, you'd want to keep an eye on them. Even I knew that, young as I was. We had a good fiddler in our town, and that's when I first saw them, dancing. I don't recall the girl's name now, though of course I knew her. Everyone knew everyone, save for the ramblers. She danced with them both. They sang, drank. It was a public dance, and I'm sure it seemed safe enough. That was all I saw, and at the time, it seemed like grand fun. I knew I wanted to be part of it, with all my heart, even if I didn't really know what 'it' was.

And so – they came to town, they sang together, danced together, and they left. And no one saw them again, not the boys, not the girl. There were whispers, but they hushed around me. I was young, as I said, and no one would answer my questions. It made me all the more curious. Perhaps my head was full of all the wrong sorts of stories – I thought she might have been beguiled away, which was true enough, but the fate I painted was certainly much more pleasant than that imagined by my fellows. Perhaps I was just the right age, then.

I watched for other signs in the world, and I let myself believe them. Signs of magic, you know, of some other fantastic world peeking in through the cracks. Even when I was old enough to really know better, when I'd seen more of the world's mundane wonders and terrors, I couldn't let it go. I knew there were deeper secrets to be learned, and I kept an eye out.

I waited for nine years. I was an adult then, though I wouldn't have been today, but still young, and still unattached. I'm not sure that it was conscious, or if it was something about me that kept others away. I might have been strange – I was never 'cool'. I lacked the allure. Nor was I a little rabbit to be dazzled with songs and drink and chased from one snapping jaw to the next! But I still longed to belong, somehow, to that world, that story. No one else recognized them when they drifted into town again. They were no older than they had been the first time, for one, but they looked different. There're always some solid details, I know now, but at the time it was just the sense of them that alerted me – I'd been looking for a long time. And this time, I looked more closely, watched them more explicitly. If they noticed, they weren't concerned. I remember the girl looking over at me once. I think I smiled. When they left, of course I followed.

That was trickier than it sounded. Back then, things were more traditional, less flexible than they are now. Things had to take their proper form – follow their proper course, let's say. They went off into the wild woods, and there was a chase. You might not know this, but when a hare is chased, it will make rapid changes of direction, turning sharply to the right or left to avoid pursuit. Smart hunters used to know this – they could chase and capture them just by guessing which way it would bolt, and heading it off. One of two ways... I'm sure you can see where this is going. They sang then too, but it was a different tune, and a different dance. There's no place in the world – no space, perhaps, in most of it – for that kind of performance anymore.

Despite having waited, expected, something like what I saw, I wasn't sure the why of it. Why had they come, the two of them? What did they need the girl for? Why did it have to end how it did? It was something more than sport, I was certain, and I still had that desire to belong, somehow, to their world, too. It called me even more strongly, though I was less sure of my place. What I wanted, after all of that, was reassurance. I kept following, replaying through everything in my mind, imagining myself into the ritual, but nothing seemed right, and I could make no sense of it. 

That made me angry, thinking it had been for nothing. It made me angry to think it wasn't something I was meant to understand. I almost missed the point at which I had my own choice to make – left or right? They didn't stick together, you see, not all the time. They rambled on their own, so I had to choose who to chase. I picked the fox – the wolf scared me more. It might have been safer, but I'm not sure it was smarter. It led me all through the countryside, and I can tell you know what I'm going to say – it was a much wilder place back then. It's true, though. The world held different dangers, things that it's harder for you to imagine these days. Most of your wilds are pretty tame, in comparison, but I won't digress. I hunted down the fox. I was young and determined. Even animals like that one tire. It led me on a merry chase – as merry as one can be through rain and mud and brambles and cold. 

What I finally caught was a red-haired girl. Caught in a sense, anyway. I wore her down, but I never trapped her. I won from her many secrets, and I paid for them too over the years. And no – you should know better, shouldn't you. That's right. Let's stick to the tale at hand. Why the dance? How could I be part of their world? What would that mean? The thing about answers, and you should keep this in mind, is that they aren't always what we want to hear. This little dance? It was the tip of the iceberg. Their world was much, much, larger and more complex. There might indeed be room for mortals who were willing to pay the price. And what I said about smart before? Well, I wouldn't recommend bargaining with foxes. But I managed to pay my dues – stories for another time – and here I am, part of their world, yes. And part of yours, still, in some ways.

And that's what it's all about in the end. The connection between the two. In the old days, the hare never had a chance, but the world is changing. I'm not sure if it's that these days, there is room for more than absolutes, or if maybe that there's no space, and all the possibilities have to be of something smaller in order to find a place. Transformations are too grand, we hold more to the metaphor. But the heart of the thing remains. It's....an augury, say. Like rolling a die, or reading entrails. Sometimes, you need the sacrifice to make it stick. The blood is still important, one way or another.

You know what's outside, what's waiting for you. You've had your drinks, your songs and dances. You know which ways you have to run. All I can tell you is – this is my chase, this time. The fate that hangs in the balance is important to me. That's right, that's why I've told you all of this. There've always been ways to rig these contests but there is a line to be drawn. I can't tell you any more. But think carefully on all that I've said. Where do your strengths lie, little rabbit? Would you rather face the fox or the wolf?


End file.
